


Russian in a Red Dress

by mylifeisloki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Hollywood AU, hollywood-starlet!Natasha, old hollywood au, so I give you, soldier-on-leave!Steve, which translated to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeisloki/pseuds/mylifeisloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Steve Rogers, on leave from his men at war, saw her for the first time, all he could see was red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes all it took was a flash of color to change the course of someone’s life. Red was a very important color to recognize, especially when you’re fighting for your life among so many good men. Red was the color that bled through their uniforms when they were hit. There was nothing pure about the color red. It was tainted, tragically beautiful, symbolic of so many things that God looks down upon with judgment: death, murder, war, lust. The badges of the Nazis, clearly displaying their distorted symbols of peace, were a sickening red, and the Russian army was red by name, by choice. When Captain Steve Rogers, on leave from his men at war, saw her for the first time, all he could see was red.

It had been kind of the army to give Captain Rogers two whole weeks of leave. They said it had something to do with what he’d lost, but Steve kind of figured they just wanted him to take a breather before he snapped and wound up in a mental facility. Or snapped and went on some kind of rampage. Of course, he would rather have been in New York, soaking up the familiar noises of the city while he ‘rested’, but he was dropped just outside Hollywood, California and he felt impossibly out of place. Compared to Brooklyn, this place was like a luxury airliner- all smooth, polished surfaces, fake smiles and rich people. The whole thing made Steve very uncomfortable

Like most soldiers on leave, Steve had been looking forward to three things: strong whiskey, the vague smell of cheap cigarettes in the air and, most importantly, women. He wasn’t the type of guy to take pleasure in a woman every night— In fact, he’d never taken pleasure in a woman at all, but he was definitely a man, and after so long being surrounded by nothing but men, he appreciated the feminine form a little more than usual. This place had a ton of women. They were all running around wearing furs around their necks, pearls on their wrists and sparkling earrings that probably cost more than Steve’s yearly rent. They were _pretty_ in every sense of the word, but they just weren’t what Steve was looking for, if he was really looking for anything.

And then it all got a little worse. Three days into his leave, which he’d mostly spent on the balcony of his hotel, sketching the view and ordering room service, he was notified that there would be a black tie affair during which he would be presented with (another) Medal of Honor. Many of the higher ups from the army would be there, along with rich supporters and a lot of other famous guests. Unfortunately, it would be held the day before he was to return to the airport for a flight back to his men. And he was _required_ to attend. So much for enjoying the last night of his leave. Sighing heavily, he’d taken his dress uniform to be cleaned and pressed, hanging it up in his closet until the set date. That night, he dressed and pinned his medals to his jacket as usual, leaving the hat behind in favor of actually being semi-comfortable.

The party itself reminded him of the twenties, of the extravagant parties he could only see through the windows of those far more rich than he would ever be. There were women in elegant gowns, their hair curled and pinned up with little decorative bits and pieces, their best jewelry on display. The men wore proper suits, save for the exactly three soldiers in attendance, who wore their uniforms just like Steve had. Walking in was like walking into a cloud of cigarette smoke, but Steve appreciated the familiar scent and took a seat at the bar because at least the party had one thing going for it- the booze was flowing freely. Luckily, the ‘ceremony’ came and went pretty early in the evening. They said a few words and Steve stood beside the podium, tall and almost visibly uncomfortable. After they pinned his medal onto his jacket and applauded appropriately, he excused himself and ordered a double at the bar, swallowing half of it down in one shot.

He was seated right there, whiskey in hand and peering enviously at the cigarette dangling from his neighbor’s hand, when she came in. It was like the smoke cleared around her, making way for the most beautiful dame Steve had ever laid eyes on. And she was wearing red. The sultry crimson painting her lips was only highlighted by her dress of the same shade and her hair, several shades darker. She was beautiful and Steve stared just like every other man who could see her, leaning back off his stool to get a better look. She didn’t look like she even noticed how people were gaping at her and Steve admired that- the confidence. He liked a woman who knew how beautiful she was.

Whispers began flying around him. “Natasha,” one of them said. Then another added, “Wow, she looks even better in person…” Steve frowned. In person? “What’s she doing _here_?” Maybe such a long time in the army made him a little out of touch with current events when they had nothing to do with the war. He leaned over to the man beside him.

“Who is she?” The guy looked at Steve like he was nuts, clapped him on the shoulder and informed him that the woman in red is none other than the famous Natalia Romanova, star of the silver screen. And boy, she really looked the part. Her dress was spectacular; fitted over her chest with two shiny straps to keep it up, it hugged all the curves of her tiny waist and wide hips, flaring out just slightly from her knee to the floor. Steve could see a hint of the matching peep-toe heels she wore underneath with every step she took. Her hair fell in bold waves over her shoulders, curving gracefully close to one eye reminiscent of Veronica Lake, and she held a simple, red purse in her hand, which tapped against her hip when she walked.

“She goes by Natasha,” he explained. “But she’s right from Stalingrad. I heard she was every bit the comrade anyone would expect.” So. She wasn’t just a beautiful woman dressed in red. She was one of them; a Russian, a communist. Within minutes, she’d gotten requests to dance. Steve watched, sipping his whiskey, as the woman _rejected_ six offers to dance, two offers to buy her a drink and one man who had the nerve to just go up to her and give her a once over like he was raised in a barn. He wished he was bold enough to get up there, introduce himself, see if she might dance with him just once before he had to go back.

When she came to a stop just one stool away from him, Steve watched as she slid onto it, neatly crossing one shapely leg over the other and readjusting the skirt of her dress as she leaned forward to order her drink. It did nothing to stop Steve from getting an entirely arousing glimpse of her leg, all the way up to above the knee, where the slit of her skirt stopped. “Vodka,” she said, and her accent sent shivers down Steve’s spine. He was one hundred percent sure that he’d never been more attracted to any other woman in his life.

Drink in one polished hand, she took a sip and before Steve knew what was happening, she was turning to look at him, eying his uniform with a delicately arched eyebrow before meeting his gaze. Steve vaguely considered asking her if she minded getting her lipstick smudged because he was about three seconds away from finding out what vodka and whiskey taste like mixed together. She stared back at him, her gaze solid and unyielding, and all of a sudden, Steve was choking on air. As he took a hasty sip of his drink, he could have sworn her lips quirked up in a knowing smile, but she was back to being as blank as possible when his eyes met hers again.

Her eyes shone more than the medals on his jacket and it took Steve a moment to realize that she’d spoken to him, her voice rough and sultry, like she was whispering to him from at least a foot away. “’Scuze me?” His own voice was smooth in comparison, but his Brooklyn accent made it so he couldn’t seem all that sophisticated, no matter how much he might want to.

She laughed, low and melodic, her lips never even parting. Steve decided that he wanted to hear more, wanted to hear her laugh out loud and see her throw her head back. She’d probably be even more _gorgeous_ if she laughed. “I said,” she repeated patiently, displaying her accent without a hint of hesitation or reserve. “I don’t bite, soldier. Not unless you ask me to.”

Steve was certain that he was blushing from the tips of his toes, all the way up to the tips of his ears. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think I could handle a bite or two.” God only knew where that came from, but her lips quirk up again and Steve ducks his head bashfully, offering back a lopsided smile. She liked that, it seemed, and Steve was kind of ashamed by how proud he was of the fact that he’d made her really smile, displaying a row of neat, white teeth that just added to the whole package. God, she was stunning.

“You had better be careful, then,” she said smoothly, taking another sip of her vodka and glancing up at him through dark lashes. “I might just test you to see if that is true.” She accompanied that with a mischievous look and Steve nearly melted. So. This was what love at first sight felt like.

“I’m Steve,” he said quickly, introducing himself with all the grace of a tourist on their first day in New York. “Steve Rogers.” She raised her eyebrows and reached out, tracing one painted nail along the edge of his new medal.

“Ah,” she sighed, and Steve swallowed hard. “The guest of honor tonight, yes?” All he could do was nod at that point, as her finger lightly traced the lapel of his jacket, and she huffed out another laugh.  
  
"And— And you are?" he asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Maybe he’d heard her name, but he wanted to know what he was supposed to call her. Ms. Romanova? Natasha? Natalia?  
  
But she raised her eyebrows in return, moving her fingers over the collar of his shirt and smirking as his Adam’s apple bobbed once again. “You don’t know who I am?”  
Steve immediately tried to cover. “I know who you are, but I just don’t know.. I mean, it’s proper to make introductions and I don’t want to wind up calling you something you’re not com—”  
  
“My name is Natalia,” she interrupted, her lips forming that one word so tantalizingly that Steve was more focused on her mouth than anything else. “You can call me Natasha, if you like.” Her finger continued up, ghosting over his neck before tracing the hard line of his jaw. “Would the guest of honor want to dance with a lowly actress like me?”

Steve blinked, inwardly panicked, and nodded again as he met her gaze. “I’d love to,” he answered, watching her down the rest of her vodka and doing the same to his whiskey like it was liquid courage. It would figure that someone who’d stared death in the face would also happen to get really, really nervous just dancing with a dame. She took his hand and Steve couldn’t take his eyes off her as she led him to the dance floor, grateful for the sweet, slow music that was playing because he couldn’t handle anything faster.

Natasha stepped close to him, curving her left arm around his shoulder and taking his right hand in hers. His other arm moved to wrap around her, resting carefully on the small of her back as they began to move. It was a little awkward for him, but she smelled like something flowery and the top of her head only brushed his chin… He was really taken with her, that much was clear, and he’d probably never see her again. Because the truth was that he only had a few more days and then he’d be shipped off to Germany again, or Poland maybe. Wherever it was, he definitely wouldn’t be _here_.

The night turned into a dream when Natasha allowed him the pleasure of dancing with her several more times, stopping in between to sit at the bar and talk over more vodka, more whiskey. They talked about her movies and Steve promised to see one as soon as he had the chance. She asked him about being a soldier, about being out there on the front lines. She wanted to know what it felt like to be a hero. By the time the party was ending, Steve felt like he’d used his leave to the best of his ability. He couldn’t think of anyone else alive that he’d rather spend it with- especially because he didn’t _have_ anyone. By the time they reached her car- a chauffeured limousine that was so slick and shiny, Steve could see his reflection- he was wishing he didn’t have to go back. 

“Will you come back here, when it’s over?” she asked, letting her hands rest on his chest in full view of whoever might be looking. That was a good question, but the better question focused on whether or not he would come back at all. “Come back and find me,” she added, reaching back to unhook the delicate chain she wore around her neck and letting it fall into the palm of his hand. “I might just be waiting for you, Captain.” Leaning up, she pressed their lips against his and Steve pressed right back, wrapping her up in his arms without a second thought. When they parted, he let out a little breath and stepped back, carefully taking off the medal he’d been presented with that night and pressing it into her hand.

“I’ll come back for this,” he said with false bravado. There was just no way to be sure. She looked down at the medal and kissed him again, her hand sliding down to hold his jaw before she pulled away.

Parting from her meant watching her walk away, and catching a wide, rather girlish smile before she blew him a kiss and met his eyes. “Write to me,” she instructed. “Whenever you can.” He nodded and she slipped into the backseat of her car, closing the door behind her. Steve watched until he couldn’t see the car at all anymore before looking down at the necklace still clutched in his hand- gold, with a small, ruby pendant. He’d keep it as long as he possibly could.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

While Natasha kept going on with her life- photo shoots, movies, galas, award ceremonies- there was a part of her that was just waiting for him to return. It had only been one night, she told herself, not some whirlwind romance. Just one night. But Steve left a lasting impression on her and Natasha wanted to see that through. True, they hadn’t gotten to know everything about one another. She hadn’t told him about her childhood in Russia and he certainly hadn’t elaborated too much about his own family, or his friends… But that hardly mattered. Marrying a war hero was supposed to be this great honor, but even as news of his bravery and his leadership reached the papers back home, she just kept thinking about _Steve_ , the soldier she’d danced with all night, the soldier who’d told her she was beautiful with more sincerity than any man she’d ever met before, the soldier who looked at her like she was a work of art.

Six months later, after countless letters back and forth, they stopped completely. Natasha let it go for a week, two weeks, three weeks… but the knot forming in the pit of her stomach told her that he wasn’t just busy. Another week passed and _finally_ , a letter showed up in her mail. There was a rush of relief that came with the little note, carefully written out in Steve’s messy letters, but the envelope was heavier than expected and that sent a shiver of worry down her spine. In her haste, she pulled out the first letter without looking at anything else and began to read.

_Dear Natasha,_

_I bet you’re incredible in your new movie. It’s too bad I can’t see it just yet, but I promise I’m going to watch them all. And then I’ll tell you how amazing you were in each and every one of them. As for what you asked, we’re doing alright. The men get really down sometimes, but I keep telling them just to put one foot in front of the other and one day, we’ll get home. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not sure I believe it myself._

_We’re all set to leave_ _~~Poland~~ _ _and head into_ _~~Germany~~ _ _in just a few days. Word is that_ _~~the war might be won for us~~ _ _, but I’m not high up enough for them to really tell me what’s going on. The rumors I’ve heard… I don’t like the sound of them. But enough about this. Tell me more about what you’ve been doing. Tell me about your new movie, what dresses you’ve bought, new shoes… I want to hear about everything._

_Honestly, Nat. These letters are what keep me going. It’s hard to remember all the details of home when you’re out_ _~~in the wilderness~~ _ _. Everything is so grey here. But there are a few things that stick out in my head: the smell of a real Brooklyn bagel, the sound of the train outside my apartment back in New York, and how beautiful you are when you smile._

_All my love,_

_Steve_

Natasha smiled and folded the letter up so she could read it later as she responded, but there was clearly more inside the envelope. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out what remained; another folded letter, and the necklace she’d given him all those months ago. She frowned, holding the necklace around the fingers of one hand and slowly sitting down again, her smile falling.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I regret to inform you that Captain Steven Rogers of the 107_ _ th_ _Infantry was declared missing in action as of April 17_ _ th _ _of this year. Multiple attempts have been made to recover him, but there has been no result. It is therefore with a heavy heart that I must consider Captain Rogers killed in action as of today, April 25_ _ th_ _of this year. He fought bravely for his country and fell beside his men, in the process of saving hundreds upon thousands of lives. His loss is a great one._

_This letter was found amongst his belongings, along with the necklace enclosed, and we felt it would be wrong to keep it from you, so we are sending it in his place. Without any living relatives and no contacts to speak of, you are the only person that will be notified of his death. If it’s not too bold, miss, Steve Rogers was a good man. I think it’s only right that you know he loved you very much, and all he kept saying to us was that we had to keep going because he had a beautiful dame waiting for him at home._

_Sincerely,_

_A friend._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was actually planning for this to end with the first chapter. With that said, I decided to go in a totally different direction and end it.. like an old movie. I hope everyone enjoys it! <3

Five years had passed since Natasha’s heart was broken. The war had been won thanks to bombs they named innocently, like that might stop them from being as awful as they were. Even people like Natasha, who had seen atrocities up close, were horrified that the US government would go to such lengths to kill so many innocent people. Life went on. It was the end of a decade categorized by air strikes, men marching off to war and so many people mourning the losses of their sons, husbands, fathers, uncles, cousins… It was endless.

She didn’t understand how so many people could go on with their lives when Steve was supposedly dead out there, wherever his body was. They never found one, and she tried to convince herself not to hope that it meant he wasn’t really dead.

In spite of how many had been lost, the war was won and people celebrated accordingly with big parades in the streets and parties in their homes. Men came back from the war ready to settle down for good and women were all too happy to oblige. That year, there were a lot of two things; marriage and pregnancies. Political times were tough, but Natasha tried to keep herself educated about whatever was going on, from the tension in Vietnam to negotiations between Sweden and the United Nations. That summer ‘bikinis’ went on sale for the first time in upscale boutiques in Paris and Natasha bought one—and then she was asked to model in one, so she did. It was very tasteful, and it caused a whole lot of controversy.

Natasha imagined what Steve might have said. She wondered if he would have liked it, if he might have teased her about being able to see her stomach or if he might have blushed and said she looked beautiful.

The next year, a girl Natasha had personally known as a fellow actress was brutally murdered and her killer was never found. The signing of peace treaties between the Allies and places like Italy, Hungary and Bulgaria was directly conflicting with the creation of something called the “New Look”, which Natasha saw as a step back in fashion. Nevertheless, she took to the nipped in waists and full skirts of the day and tried not to complain about it. Natasha attended the academy awards that year and politely applauded as her movie lost ‘Best Picture’ to a drama that was said to pull tears from anyone who watched it. Natasha had seen it- and she hadn’t cried. The truth was that she hadn't cried since before she'd first laid eyes on Steve at that party.

Whispers of a political war between the US and the Soviet Union made her extra careful where she went and to whom she spoke. Later that year, ten good men are banned from the movie industry due to so-called ‘Communist’ influences. Natasha was turned down for no less than thirteen roles because her accent was too thick, and no one wanted to risk being accused of Communism. By the summer of the next year, Natasha was considering dropping out of acting and making herself scarce because it was only a matter of time.

Steve would have made sure she was safe, she reminded herself. He would have wanted her no matter what anyone said. Just a few months later, Natasha entered into a sudden romance with a British pilot who said he was going to marry her. Just a month later, he proved it. When he was called away to enter Soviet territory by plane a mere six weeks into their marriage, she had this feeling about it and it was only because of that feeling that she wasn’t all that surprised when she got the news that his plane went down with no survivors. Unfortunately, stress and poor advice leads her to lose the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying until the bleeding started. One trip to the doctor and she was told that she probably wouldn’t be able to carry a baby ever again.

She was terrified when they announced that the Soviet Union had tested its first atomic bomb. No one was safe anymore- not when the Russians had all that power. The last thing anyone wanted was another war, but that was what they were calling it- the Cold War.

Natasha decided then that she would get out of acting, get out of the spotlight. She’d got plenty of money saved up and a big, fancy penthouse apartment in New York City—what more could she possibly need? It was easy to say that in the light of day, when she spent her days taking long walks or just reading as much as she could, all sprawled out on a chaise lounge in front of huge windows that looked out over the city. At night, everything was different. Maybe it was all very girlish of her, but she dreamed of what might have happened if Steve had come home. They would have fallen deeper in love. He would have swept her off her feet like no one else had, married her… She would have given him a family if she could. Sometimes she was sure that she would give _anything_ to have him back. Maybe their one night of romance wouldn’t impress anyone, but one night was all they’d needed.

It was just getting hot again in the year 1949 and Natasha had someone knocking at her door. No one ever came to visit, so she was admittedly a little suspicious, but she went to the door, pulled it open and found… a ghost. The color drained from Natasha’s face as she stood there, her eyes growing wide as she looked him over. He was a little older, a little more run down, but there was no mistaking him.

“Steve,” she breathed shakily. “Оh, мой Бог.” She was silent for a moment before—“How… But you… They said…”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking sheepish and apologetic and very young, in that moment. “I know,” he answered. “I know, but I wasn’t. I’m—“

Natasha interrupted his sentence by stepping forward, raising her hand and slapping him hard across the face. Steve’s head whipped to the side as he let out a groan, rubbing at his jaw and letting out a huff of a laugh. “Hey, that was a pretty good hit,” he offered, chuckling tiredly. “You've got a mean swing, Nat.”   
  
She clapped that same hand over her mouth and stared up at him, tears welling up regardless of how little she wanted it to happen. He was back. Steve was okay? How was he okay? Stepping close again, she threw her arms around his neck and sealed their lips together at last, up on her toes to make up for the height difference. Steve's bag dropped to the floor as his arms encircled her waist, leaning back to pick her just an inch or two off her feet. She kissed him hard, ignoring the fact that her cheeks were wet and her dress was getting wrinkled. She didn’t care. In fact, she didn't stop there. No, Natasha waited until her feet hit the ground to jump up and wrap her legs right around his waist, parting her lips to deepen their kiss because Steve was _home_. 

When he let her down again, she pulled back for just a moment and looked up at him, reaching up to trace along his jaw with her fingertips. “You never came home,” she accused slowly. “You were gone. They sent me a letter and that was all- a letter and the necklace I gave you. No explanations. No _body_ , no hope.” Steve sighed and shook his head, idly rubbing his thumb over a bit of lace on her dress, sewn there to highlight an already dramatic waistline.

"I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I promise, I tried to get home to you faster. I tried.” She had no idea what he’d been through, the months upon years he’d been kept hostage, tortured for the sensitive information he knew concerning the American government. “I’m glad they told you, though,” he continued. “Because I wouldn’t have wanted you to think I just…forgot about you.”

Well, that was sweet in a strange, morbid way. Natasha offered him a little smile and leaned up, pressing their lips together again with her hand cupping his jaw. “Why don’t you come in?” she offered, stepping aside to admit him. “We can talk.” Steve smiled and stepped past her, depositing his bag near the door and taking his shoes off when Natasha asked him to. Together, they padded into the living room and she poured herself a drink, offering him a glass of whiskey- she’d remembered. As they settled on the couch, Steve couldn’t really take her eyes off her, watching her move smoothly around the bar and back to sit with him, glass in hand.

The expectation was clear- she wanted to know where he’d been for the past five years. Steve still wasn’t sure how to tell her what they’d done to him, so he elected to be honest and go from there. He had faith that if she wanted him to stop, she would tell him so. “I went behind enemy lines,” he started, taking a big gulp of his drink. “I can’t tell you what the plan was, but suffice it to say that a lot of people were in danger. In order to get them out of danger, I had to crash a plane, basically.” It was hard to explain. As he went on, telling her about the Germans finding him in the field, the injuries he’d sustained in the crash, the way they’d treated him, and the experiments they’d done, the line of Natasha’s mouth grew more and more grim.

“So eventually, they made a mistake and I escaped,” he explained. “But I was in the middle of nowhere, some kind of secret base underground, and they came after me. It took me six months just to get out of Europe without them finding me instead. When the army found me again, they kept me for another few months just to make sure they hadn’t planted any tracking devices on me… The minute they let me go, I came here.”

By the time Steve was ducking his head and refusing to raise his eyes as he explained that the doctors told him he was sick, some kind of sickness that was all in his head, Natasha had refilled her drink once and was sitting in total silence, watching him unwaveringly. They told him a lot of soldiers suffered from it, that he should consider entering an institution. Steve had refused and since he was of relatively sound mind, they hadn’t forced him.

“And that’s it,” he breathed, polishing off the last of his whiskey. “That’s everything.”

Natasha just stared at him for a while longer, making a completely indiscernible expression. When she finally moved, Steve had been half ready to march himself out of there under the assumption that she didn't want a man who carried so much along with him. Luckily, she caught him before that happened and curled one hand in the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and into a another kiss. When they parted, he offered her a warm, sad smile.

"Listen," he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I understand if you... I mean, I know it was just that one night. No hard feelings if you want me to leave and never come back. Not many people would want to be associated with a lunatic." Natasha narrowed her eyes and boldly crawled right onto his lap, sitting sideways with her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. It was so easy to love him, her big, brave soldier who didn't care that there were rumors around her, who didn't care that she was a commie, who sacrificed himself to save God knows how many people.

"You're not a lunatic." She pecked his lips again, smiling wide for him and earning a bright grin in return, along with two arms comfortably settling around her waist. Natasha couldn't ever see herself getting tired of his face smiling back at her. Leaning closer, she smiled against his lips and huffed out a laugh. "You're a hero, Captain. My hero."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
